


All quiet on the western approach

by Columbarius13



Series: We Few... We Happy Few.... [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Battle of Britain AU, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Columbarius13/pseuds/Columbarius13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geno is there to pick Sid up when he falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All quiet on the western approach

**Author's Note:**

> This is not-betaed, so apologies for any errors, grammar screw-ups. All mine! 
> 
> I've set it during the Battle of Britain, in 1940, when the RAF (with assistance from pilots from many different countries) were trying to retain air supremacy over Great Britain, while fighting off daily attacks from the Luftwaffe, to prevent a German invasion. On a personal level, the pilots involved in the Battle of Britain paid a massive toll, and there's just something about what they had to endure, day after day, which really gets to me. 
> 
> I did think quite hard about turning an historical event like this into an AU. I intend no disrespect to those who did fight by using their efforts as a backdrop for my Sid/Geno story. Quite the contrary - if more people understand what those young men went through, then so much the better. I just hope my story gives a little understanding. I'd two family members (that I know of) who flew in the RAF in WWII, although only one in Fighter Command. Both fortunately survived. 
> 
> Warnings at end, but note the tags as well please! More notes at end, including some explanation/ translations of the slang I've used from the time and from the service. 
> 
> The title is a play on "All Quiet on the Western Front', the famous WWI German novel. 
> 
> This was meant to be a few hundred words. One day, I'll manage that!

The airfield is quiet, the silence hanging over the grass like a pall. Calm and serene, nothing breaking it, no distant buzz of aircraft engines. 

Sid is sitting outside the hut, chair canted towards the west, attention focussed on the horizon. 

“Still here?” Geno asks quietly, walking up behind him. 

“Where else would I be?” Sid is terse in reply. 

Geno grunts in acknowledgement, pulls up a chair to sit alongside Sid. Sid waves a hand, half in apology, half in welcome. 

“Has Mario heard anything?” Sid is not looking at him now, looking straight ahead. 

Geno shakes his head, nevertheless. “Nothing.” There’s a sigh to his right. “He’s good pilot,” he offers. “Has made it back late before.”

“He has.” Sid agrees, but his voice is quiet and withdrawn. He doesn’t make the obvious response, that he’s never been back this late. Neither of them want to think about what that means. 

The silence falls between them, still, just the distant sound of birdsong. Sid’s eyes scan the horizon relentlessly. 

Geno clears his throat. “Mario changed flying order tomorrow, told me to tell you. My flight will be Q at dawn,” he tries to say it noncommittally. 

It’s Sids turn to grunt, scrubs his hand across his face tiredly. “I should object, that’s not fair on your flight. But… thanks. We’ll probably be up later though unless Gerry lays off though, and he doesn’t seem inclined to do that at the moment.” He pauses. “Told Flower yet he doesn’t get his lie-in?”

Geno sighs. “No,” he admits. “Was hoping batman would do it.”

“Geno.” And Geno knows Sid is right, knows he can’t deny Sid anything, especially now, but he really doesn’t want to have to tell Flower. Flower has been in the squadron as long as Sid, will understand why the orders have been changed, but that won’t make it easier. Flower has absolutely no qualms about telling everyone exactly how he feels at any given moment; particularly when he’s browned off. It’s both a blessing and a curse. There is a rumour he got transferred to their squadron after telling a bunch of penguins exactly what he thought of their battle plans when down at Group HQ. Geno sighs again. 

“I’ll tell him.”  
“Good. He deserves to hear it from you.”

Silence falls between them again, unbroken, serene. The sun is falling fast towards the horizon; Geno reckons maybe another hour of daylight. He glances across at Sid; Sid is chewing his bottom lip, barely blinking as he stares fixedly west, attention focussed. They sit in silence for a while, listening, watching. 

“What happened?”

Sid stills, focus going inward. Looking at that stillness, Geno sees now why Mario mentioned so casually Sid was sitting out here, staring west. 

“We were doing an intercept from Sector Control but they vectored us into cloud. As we came out, we got jumped by four 109s.” Sid, stops, swallows. “We had nothing; they had everything. Speed, height, position, numbers. I got a shot off, might have hit one, but all we could do was dive back into the cloud. If we’d stayed to try to fight, we were out of it, never mind having a sprog along.” He stops again, voice strained and stressed when he restarts. “It was chaos Geno; they followed us in. We played hide and seek in the clouds, with them, with each other for a while. You’d see a glimpse of a plane suddenly appear around you and not know who it was. No visual references, instrument flying while trying not to get shot, collide with anyone and find the rest of the flight.” 

He’s breathing heavily, back in the moment. Geno winces; no pilot likes to be flying blind in cloud with bandits around - it’s the stuff nightmares are made of. 

“I got another shot at a 109, but it was a fast, reaction shot. No idea if it actually hit anything. Nothing claimable anyway, so likely the brass hats will be complaining to Mario about that. And came out of the cloud to find the sprog below me.” He pauses again, takes a drink out of the water bottle at his feet. He laughs; it’s more of a sob. “Beau certainly acts like he’s got nine lives. He was circling as though he didn’t have a care in the world, that there wasn’t a Gerry fighter in the sector. What the hell do they teach them in flight school?” The brief spark of anger fades. He shuts his eyes, ducks his head into his hands. “Tanger wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the RP either, and he didn’t respond to radio calls. There was nothing from him after we re-entered the clouds.” He’s running his fingers through his hair now, back to chewing his bottom lip, eyes seeking out the western sky again, where the sun is now setting, turning the sky aflame. “I couldn’t find him Geno.” Geno can hear the vulnerability, the plea in his voice now. 

Geno shakes his head. 

“If you couldn’t, then no-one could. You know that Sid. You were in a shitty situation. Anything could happen. It’s not on you Tanger hasn’t returned yet.”

“I was flight commander.”

“And Tanger is good pilot, experienced pilot who can look after himself. A lot of things could have happened to explain why he not RTB’d yet. Not your fault Sid. Not anyone’s fault. You brought the baby pilot back safe.” Sid looks towards him, face bathed in warm amber light, eyes suspiciously bright. “You brought you back safe too. You did everything you could. You best pilot, but you still human, like rest of us. Tanger wouldn’t blame you. Blame this bloody war, not yourself.” And Geno ducks his head, tries to reign back his anger, knowing that’s not what Sid needs now. 

“What if he doesn’t come back Geno?” Geno can hear the exhaustion and fear in that question and it worries him. Sid’s been the strength of the squadron until now, but he also knows everyone has a breaking point and Sid has been doing this longer than most. He reaches across, runs his fingers through Sid’s hair, rubs the back of his neck, supporting, comforting. 

“Then we drink to his memory and be honoured that we knew him.” Geno swallows down his own fear, sternly tells himself that it hasn’t happened yet, doesn’t think about the tall, elegant French man who is his friend. “And we wake up tomorrow, and I lead the Q and Flower bitches about not getting a lie in and you lead the alternate and we go on.” He sighs heavily, knowing the craziness in what he has just said, but it’s all he has and he knows it’s scant comfort. 

Sid pushes upright, looking west once more to where the sun has now set, the sky settling into lilacs and mauves, the evening star visible high above them. Far off, Geno hears the sound of a cow lowing, but cannot hear any aircraft engines. All too quiet. 

Geno stands up and moves alongside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He looks down, to see tears glistening on Sid’s face. Sid catches him looking and shudders against him, caught. 

“It’s so hard Geno.” His voice is hoarse now. “Keeping going on and on. Hard to remember what we’re doing this for. Hard to keep pretending everything is fine. Hard to pretend that we’re not short on sleep, short on people, short on time. That we can keep doing this, no end in sight. To keep on pretending that we’re immortal, that it won’t happen to us, when it happens to our friends, to the people around us.” Words are tumbling out now. “Wondering who’ll return every time we scramble. Waiting for the signal to scramble. And then the dreams as well.” He dashes his hand across his eyes and Geno can’t just stand there anymore, pulls Sid in tight to his chest, hands around him, comforting and supporting, knowing he can’t make it better, can’t take it away, can only be there, just as Sid has been there for him after one thing too many. “Trying to think of it as planes we shoot down, not people, not thinking about it when a flamer goes down and the poor bugger doesn’t get out. Fuck, Geno the screams… And now Tanger.“ And he breaks off, can’t keep talking through his sobbing and the intense shudders which are now wracking his body. 

Geno pulls him in tighter, rubbing his back, murmuring agreement and nonsense into his ear, lump in his throat. It’s true, all of it and all they can do is endure, cope as best they can, live day to day, live in the now. 

They stand there together as Sid slowly cries himself out in Geno’s arms. The only thing marking the passing of time is the slowly darkening skies; Geno is caught soothing and comforting and knows they could have been there for hours for all he knows. But he knows it remains quiet, no engine noise breaking the night.

Eventually Sid has fully relaxed into his arms, crying storm passed, leaning on him trustingly. Geno leans back a little, arms still encradling, so he can see Sid’s face better in the darkness, all pale skin and dark eyes. 

“Better?” he asks anxiously. 

Sid sighs in response. “Yeah, a bit. Easier to bear again. Sorry.. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.” 

Geno snorts. “Not dumping Sid. What friends do for each other. You do it for me when I need it.” He sees Sid nod in the starlight. “Always here for you.” He feels Sid tense, start to shake his head, says more forcefully “NO, always here for you. No other option, you stuck with me.” 

Sid’s body relaxes back against his. “You’re such an arrogant arsehole.” His tone is light and teasing now. “What makes you think I can’t do better?”

Geno smiles in the darkness - such an obvious answer. “I’m Russian, I’m best, there is no better,” he says, smugly. His answer is met with a giggle - small and weak and tight, but still a giggle. “Do we go back to quarters now? Some arsehole is making me early standby tomorrow and I still need to tell Flower.”

Sid glances out to the west, but it’s too dark to see anything now and his shoulders slump a little at that realisation. He nods, pulling out of Geno’s arms, turning in the direction of the station. Geno immediately hooks his arm across Sid’s shoulders, keeping him pulled to his side. Slowly, they walk back to the base together. 

“Thank you Geno.” The words are said so quietly. Geno says nothing in return - what is there to say?

The night remains quiet, the peace remaining unbroken and undisturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unresolved; with the death of a minor character heavily implied. It's sad, with little resolution - as so often happened during the Battle itself. 
> 
> I did end up using some period language, thanks to my own knowledge, and some online resources. So for the terms you may not be familiar with (If I've missed any out, please ask!): 
> 
> 109s - Messerschmit 109s, German fighter aircraft.  
> Bandits - enemy aircraft  
> Batman - orderly/airman who looked after the pilots in their quarters. Kind of like a military servant.  
> Browned off - very annoyed  
> Flamer - plane crash-landing on fire  
> Flight - RAF flights tended to involve three, sometimes four aircraft. Officer commanding would be termed Flight commander, although it's not a formal rank.  
> Gerry - Germans  
> Penguins - Officers with no flying experience (I laughed a lot when I found this term, it had to go in).  
> Q - no, not the Blackhawks Coach. Q-ships/Q-flights is a modern day RAF term for quick response aircraft - aircraft that can launch within 15 minutes generally. It is probably anachronistic for WWII, but I needed the concept and couldn't find a term from WWII (I suspect all their aircraft could launch within 15 minutes).  
> RP - rendezvous point  
> RTB - return to base  
> Scramble - immediate operational take-off - usually because enemy planes had been sighted someplace  
> Sprog - newly trained pilot - effectively a rookie. British slang for child generally.


End file.
